My Lord what a mornin'
by Narcissa1
Summary: The morning after the last battle, the final battle. Rating because it is rather sad I was inspired by the song My Lord What A Mornin'´by Harry Belafonte... Now Complete
1. Proloque

This is a rather sad story, so be warned! If you are so nice to review, I might think about writing a sequel...  
My lord what a Mornin' By Narcissa  
  
Silently he looked over the once green and friendly looking vast grounds of Hogwarts. Never again, would he be able to picture them as they had been before. Even when once again children would be running laughing and playing around, having nothing to worry about, than not to fail the next test.  
  
It would be a long time before that would happen: The once proud castle of Hogwarts, lay partly in ashes, the Forbidden Forest: mostly burned.  
  
Nothing was as before.  
  
He could not mourn over the losses of this night. It was still to soon, more would die of their wounds in the next few days, more would die, because they had fought for what was right, what they believed in.  
  
What he believed in.  
  
Most of the witches and wizards that had died tonight had died, hoping that their children would be able to live without the evil they themselves had faced - only their children were fighting alongside with their parents, even when they had just started their schooling.  
  
So many had died this night.  
  
The final battle, it had finally come.  
  
Near sunsets the protection-walls broke. There had been no time to evacuate the school, so everyone had stayed. The students were ordered to stay in their common-rooms and allow the teachers to fight.  
  
They had not obeyed their orders.  
  
Surprisingly only six of the students whose parents were Death Eaters had left their classmates to join their parents.  
  
Draco Malfoy had stayed.  
  
"My parents are murderers. I don't like mudbloods, but I will not help to kill them!"  
  
He was the first of the students to fall.  
  
By the hands of his own mother.  
  
As soon as his now lifeless body hit the ground, the battle had started. The students, fought the onslaught with the curses they had learned: a tickling-curse against the Cruciatus, a child against a full grown wizard, an innocent against a mass-murderer.  
  
But the students held till the aurors and most of the parents who were wizards arrived. They were not even able to send the students away to safety. "It is our school, we stay!"  
  
Dennis Creevey fell to defend his beloved school.  
  
He was a muggle born. He was tortured to death.  
  
HE came as the last sunrays faded. HE was laughing. HE did not even look at the people he killed or tortured. No one was able to get near HIM, no curse was able to reach HIM.  
  
HE stood there all the time laughing.  
  
The battle continued the whole night, the burning forest providing the light. The animals had long before joined the battle, siding either with the Dark or with the Light. Most of them are death now, no matter on which side they fought.  
  
The grounds are drenched with blood, the blood of our children, the blood of the aurors and parents who came to defend them - and the blood of the Death Eaters who came to kill.  
  
It will never be the same, so many are death, so many are gone.  
  
HE had not been able to convince the Dementors or Giants to side with him - but neither had we.  
  
The battle had ended as sudden as it had begun. Harry Potter, the boy-who- lived, ended it.  
  
He killed himself while he did so.  
  
He did what the world expected from him, a seventeen year old student, since the day he survived: he kill Voldemort.  
  
His death could have been prevented, like so many. This day would have never come, if only...  
  
So many students are death, so many teacher, so many good wizards and witches.  
  
Sybil Trelawney is one of them, she died, defending a first year, she is also death. Most of the teachers died defending their charges - but they would have also died if the students had not been there.  
  
Voldemort died because he thought himself invincibly.  
  
No one had though to kill him the way he actually died. No one except Harry Potter. He did not curse Voldemort, he only bound Voldemorts soul to his own - and allowed Voldemort to kill him.  
  
He sacrificed himself for all of us.  
  
The sun is rising over this field of death. I will never forget this night, I will never forget the boy who ended it, smiling at the face of his own death, knowing he would safe those who cared about him. Without him I wouldn't be staying here. No one would be still alive to tell the tale of this remarkable young man who did not think of his own safety when others were concerned.  
  
He had nothing and gave it all. 


	2. He did not deserve to die

Chapter 1: He did not deserve to die  
  
I misjudged him from the day I learned that his mother was pregnant. I didn't give him a chance - none of us did.  
  
We all had an image of him: the perfect saviour, a spoilt youth, an insolent brat, the Golden-Boy of Gryffindor, short: The-Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
He was nothing of that - and all. Only, he was not spoilt, not after his parents died.  
  
After his death we learned, that he was anything but spoilt,  
  
his family: neglected and abused him, physically and mentally,  
  
his friends: knew about it but didn't act,  
  
his guardian: watched over him, but did not see,  
  
the press: built up the perfect life everyone wanted their hero to have,  
  
the ministry: ignored any signs he gave them,  
  
the headmaster and the teachers: did not see past his cheerful mask,  
  
and I was the worst off them all: I only saw what I envied in his father.  
  
Year after year I told him how spoilt he was and that he didn't deserve to be pampered in such a way.  
  
He was the only person, who would have deserved it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Fifteen years have gone by since that night when Hogwarts fell, the night so many died, the most purest and the most evil wizards of our age included.  
  
Hogwarts is rebuilt, where he died grows a bush of white lilies, they bloom all the year, but every year in a single night they turn blood-red.  
  
The night he died.  
  
We all have fulfilled his legacy, all those who did live after that night.  
  
He asked me to be happy - it was hard at first, changing my behaviour, that I had harboured most of my life.  
  
I'm glad, that he did ask it of me.  
  
I'm finally happy, I married thirteen years ago, my eldest children will star at Hogwarts tomorrow: Virginia Lily and Harold James.  
  
Named after Harry, his love and his parents, all who were killed at the hand of Tom M. Riddle.  
  
Albus is still headmaster - he was left fifteen years ago to watch, to see his students, his friends die.  
  
He is not the same, as he was before - but who is?  
  
I became deputy-headmaster, Minerva died one week after the battle, one hour before Virginia Weasley, Potters fiancé.  
  
Our twins are laughing, demanding, that I tell them all about the houses.  
  
Fifteen years ago, that would have been able to answer the question without hesitation: Huffelpufs were cowards, Rawenclaws were bookworms, Gryffindors were foolish do-goodies and Slytherin... Slytherin was cunning, ambitious and level-headed.  
  
But the last battle had shown him that all these were false prejudges: the Hufflelpuffs had fought without fear, the Ravenclaws left there books and fought with bravery. Slytherins and Gryffindors - enemys since Hogwarts was founded - fought alongside, back to back, neither foolish nor sneaky.  
  
I do not know how I shall answer the question, so I settle on telling them about the war and ist heroes, students I thought, teachers I worked with, parents and aurors, with whom I went to school - and the Death Eaters, who were once my friends.  
  
They are not to young to hear this story, to understand it: they grew up in a world that was slowly repairing itself.  
  
But more important, the youngest students who fought in that battle were not older then Ginny and Harry are now.  
  
Fred and George Weasley opened their joke-shop right after the final battle, together with Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, fulfilling Harrys wish: `Marauders Twins and Potter´ , MTW. Not even `Zonko's´is as popular or successful as they are.  
  
We nearly lost the tow Marauders when they learned of Harrys death when they woke up after being in coma for a few weeks. Only the wish to fulfil Harrys last will kept them alive.  
  
No one had known that Harry had made a last will, it was sent to Albus a month after the battle - he had written it right after the Three-Wizards- Tournament in his fourth year.  
  
With fifteen, on his birthday. Already did he know, that he would not survive the final battle.  
  
He had never wanted to be a hero, I understand that now, I understood it, the moment I saw him fall, the moment he gave me more then just my life, my freedom. He is now even more a hero then he was in his life. He is no longer the Boy-Who-Lived, but the Boy-Who-Defeated-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named- And-Sacrificed-himself-For-Us-All. Or if you want to make it short: Harry Potter the Martyr.  
  
He would hate to be called this, but I have to agree with the rest of the wizarding world: he did sacrifice himself for us, he is a martyr!  
  
Every year since Hogwarts has reopened I will give a speech to the first years, telling them of Harry Potter, telling them that it doesn't matter in which house you are, telling him that it is us, who make the choices and tell us weather we are dark or light wizards. That it doesn't matter, if we are purebloods or muggle born, that we define ourselves by our actions. I tell them about the Slytherins who stayed on the light-side.  
  
And I tell them about a boy named Tom M. Riddle, how similar his life was to that of Harry Potter. But he became dark. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I'm still one of the most feared teachers, that that will not change - Harry only asked me to be more gentle on Neville Longbottom and children like him. Neville now teaches Herbelogie - he is a good teacher.  
  
Harry Potter send one curse at me during the final battle: he gave me all of his powers, to inherit to my children, he was sure that I would have some.  
  
He was defenceless as he died. I'm now the heir of Slytherin and Gryffindor, not by blood but by magic. I can still not understand, why Harry choose me to carry on the magic of tow of the most powerful wizards that had ever lived - but I appreciate this gift.  
  
I did not notice, that I fell silent and that my two eldest children had left me, so that I might remember all those I lost in that night, the night of the battle Harry Potter died. 


	3. A new year begins

Chapter 2:A new year begins  
  
He watched the new students while he called their names. Many of the names were familiar to him, Harry, Draco and Ginny were the most prominent names among the children, all named after the fallen of the last battle. You could see immediately who is muggle-born by the lack of the name of a war- hero.  
  
And then there are the children whose parents he had thought, the oldest son of William Weasley began today, he was named after Draco Malfoy, the boy who made fun of the Weasleys at every possible occasion - he is sorted into Gryffindor, the first Weasley of this generation, the first Weasley who grew up with the tale of his aunt Ginny and her fiancé Harry.  
  
His uncle Charles merely smiles.  
  
It doesn't matter any more in which house you are sorted - the legacy of the last battle, Harrys legacy.  
  
The inter-house relationships have improved since Hogwarts has reopened, it is now allowed to visit the other houses, stay over night if wanted.  
  
Passwords to the common rooms are no longer kept secret, they are still changed each weak, but they are mostly the names of the fallen.  
  
Quidditch can now also be played with inter-house-teams, the usual teams mixed among themselves, for those games the cup no longer being something a house wins, but a small trophy for each player of the winning team - last year a Slytherin/Gryffindor team won.  
  
Harry would have enjoyed the changes in the school - and so would have Draco.  
  
He was no longer head of Slytherin, he was now working on inter-house-co- operating, dealing with any complains about an other house.  
  
Next he called the names of his children, wondering where they would be placed, in Gryffindor like their name-patrons or in Slytherin like their father. They could not be placed in the house of their mother, his beloved wife, because she was a muggle.  
  
It took the sorting hat longer to place his son, than it had taken with the rest of the students - or was it just that he was so nervous where his son would be placed?  
  
Finally, after what seemed an eternity the name of the house was called: his son was a Gryffindor like Harry Potter had been.  
  
The sorting of his daughter took equally long and she too was sorted into Gryffindor, promising Hogwarts a new Generation of pranksters, with an endless supply of MTW-products.  
  
Gryffindor had a new "Golden Trio", once again two boys and a girl, but this time the participants were worse than the last ones: all were skilled pranksters, all loved Quidditch and all loved to read and to learn.  
  
Draco, Ginny and Harry; what would be their adventures, what school-rules would they break to accomplish their goals, how many times would they end up in detention, how many times in the hospital wing?  
  
He waited for the feast to end, to bid his children good-night, telling them that he was proud of them and that they should honour the school rules more then the original Harry, the original "Dream Team".  
  
As a shock came when both of his children told him, that the sorting-hat had wanted to place them into Slytherin and that they had begged him to place them in Gryffindor, to be with Draco - or in Ginnies case with Harry.  
  
Long in the night he sat in his room, thinking, thinking as so often of Harry Potter.  
  
How much had that boy to endure? How often had Harry wished that he would stop - if even for one lesson to torment him? To stop following him in the shadows everytime he left the common room?  
  
There was no answer to those questions, Harry was dead and in his death he had forgiven him for all the hate, for all the unfairness he had shown to him.  
  
His testament had contained letters, letters to his friends, to his godfather, to Lupin, to all Weasleys, to the headmaster, to Hagrid, to Minerva - and to him.  
  
In this letter Harry had told him that he had written a new letter after every school year - starting after his forth. Harry had told him, that he didn't hold a grudge against him because of his behaviour, that - albeit he could not understand it how he could hate him for things his father had done - he could not condemn him for this behaviour.  
  
And then he had described him his life: his live before he got his Hogwarts- letter, his life at Hogwarts, how he had thought in his first year that he had tried to kill him, how he had learned of his role as a spy, how he had learned to hate him, and how that hate had been replaced by respect, and at last how the life was with his relatives during the holidays.  
  
He also explained why he had chosen him to carry the magic of Gryffindor and Slytherin and not one of his friends, his godfather or Albus Dumbledore.  
  
He was chosen over Harries friends and Godfather because Harry knew that he would be responsible with the powers and not misuse them; he was chosen over Dumbledore, because Harry found that Dumbledore had already enough powers - his children were all grown up, so he had also to curse someone to allow the powers to continue.  
  
He walked over to the fire and called his wife, wishing that she could stay here with him, but as a muggle she could neither see nor enter the grounds of Hogwarts. All she would see would be a ruin of this wonderful castle, a ruin he once had seen.  
  
He had seen the smoking burning ruins of this grand castle, a sight he could not forget, a sight that followed him into his dreams, letting him relive the most terrible night of his life.  
  
The first thing he had noticed about Alice were her eyes: large emerald green eyes, eyes that reminded him of Harry Potter - and of his mother Lilly Evans Potter. Like Harry she had black hair, but unlike his, hers was straight and long.  
  
As they had gotten to know each other better, he had told her why he had talked to her on that day - at first she was really angry, but then she had said that she felt honoured, she said, that she wished to have known Harry Potter, the young man that allowed her husband to live. 


	4. Slowly we are falling apart

Chapter 3: Slowly we are falling apart  
  
The night drew near, he could feel it in his bones, crawling under his skin like a parasite you want to be rid of -and yet he did not want to loose the memory of that night in which so many died.  
  
So many fought and died for their all freedom, their very chance and right to exist.  
  
The whole wizarding-world would celebrate the night and the two days enclosing it, but he and everyone who had been there, who fought there would only mourn the deaths.  
  
It would be sixteen years that he had the powers - and he still had not used them, avoiding every foolish wand-waving. When he was honest with himself he said that he feared the power he possessed, a power that had once belonged to Harry Potter, who did not knew till a few weeks before his death why he was so powerful - and why his powers tore him sometimes nearly apart.  
  
He did not have such problems, through Harry the powers of the two archenemies and yet friends were mingled, forming something new, untainted by the darkness of Voldemort and Slytherin.  
  
Every student who had been at Hogwarts in the years ago knew, that the two days around that night would be celebrated, but that none of the teachers was enjoying it, remembering all those they had lost.  
  
The headmaster never joined the festivities, being not able to bear all the joy around him, blaming himself for not preventing the two wars, the last battle. He had known that Voldemort was still alive after his first defeat - and yet he had done nothing to prevent his rebirth; he blamed himself for allowing Harry Potter to sacrifice himself when there must have been a different way.  
  
He could understand why Albus Dumbledore blamed himself - and he also blamed him, not for not being able to prevent the war, but for not seeing how much Harry endured: at home and at school; for not allowing him to be what he always wanted to be, to be a normal boy.  
  
Somehow he had the feeling, that it was time to use Harries gift, to use his wand again, that lay almost forgotten in a pocket of his robe.  
  
*~*~*  
  
Twenty years ago Harry, Minerva, Ginny, Draco and all the others had still lived, twenty years ago he lived only to fight against Voldemort - and to torment Harry Potter.  
  
And now, now all his five children were at Hogwarts, earning more detentions than the Marauders, the Weasley-twins and the first Dream Team. He could not tell which of his children were the worst: the twins Harry and Ginny, their second pair of twins Draco Salazar and Albus Godric or their youngest child Minerva Sybil. Each of them was extremely powerful, betraying whose heirs they were.  
  
Albus Dumbledore had died that year in spring, leaving the world and the school in shock - and him without a friend and mentor.  
  
He was the headmaster of Hogwarts now, the third Slytherin in the history of the school. Unlike Albus Dumbledore he was not a grandfather to the students: he was the headmaster and nothing more, only a few saw his other side, his gentle side, his kind side that allowed him to smile and even laugh.  
  
Often in the evening the students and professors saw their headmaster wandering around the grounds, stopping each time at the bush of lilies, as if seeing something that had once been there.  
  
Every night he left the school to spend a few hours with his beloved wife, wishing that she could be at his side ; she was always near, living in Hogsmead since Minerva had started school, but she could not enter Hogwarts.  
  
*~*~*  
  
He knew that he would not live as long as Albus, the Cruciatus he endured under Voldemort having destroyed his nervous-system enough to shorten his life.  
  
Sometimes, when he was tired he could fell every nerve in his body, remembering him of the bad choice he made as a youth.  
  
He had never told anyone how much he had been affected by the Cruciatus; during his time as a spy he had always feared to loose his sanity, now he sometimes asked himself if that was really the worst effect the curse had on its victims.  
  
There were no reports over the long -term-effects of that curse, for no one had lived long enough to develop them, and no one had been submitted to it so many times as he had been.  
  
Since three years did he search for something to tell him what the curse had done to him, but he only found the effects the curse had while cast: it destroyed the nervous-system, he could guess from there what that meant for him.  
  
Each day he felt it more and more, always fearing that the pain would get as strong as the actual curse.  
  
He saw this pain, this knowledge of his early death as a penalty for his sins, for the people he had killed, he had tortured. Only Albus had known of all the crimes he had committed during his time as a Death Eater, during that one year directly after he had left Hogwarts.  
  
All those memories he had stored in a Pensieve, together with other memories he wished he could forget. He had found Harry Potter at one time watching one of his memories, he did not know which memory he had see, but none of the memories that were stored there were pleasant, and none should have been seen by Harry.  
  
He had treated Harry after that incident worse than before.  
  
He wished to go back in time, if even only for a few minutes and tell Harry, that he was sorry, that he was ashamed of what he had done - and that he did not think of him as a vast of space, of a useless thing.  
  
*~*~*  
  
They were eating dinner in the Great Hall when he felt the pain, it was tearing his body apart, making him gasp in pain and surprise. The pain was not yet as bad as the actual Cruciatus, but it was worse then the other times before. His nerves were burning and freezing at the same time, his nerves went numb and hypersensitive - and all he could do was sitting rigidly in his chair.  
  
At his first gasp a few teachers and students had looked at him, trying to find out what happened, now all of his five children had run to his side, demanding to know what the matter was.  
  
He was not able to answer them, to talk  
  
As soon as the pain had come it vanished, leaving him the nearly impossible task to insure his children and the annoying Dr. Granger - former Miss Hermione Granger - that he was alright - and trying to remain conscious.  
  
Slowly the students and professors calmed down as they saw, that their headmaster was seemingly in good health, but nobody could think of an explanation for his unusual behaviour. 


	5. Breaking of a spirit

Chapter 4: Breaking of a spirit  
  
More and more often he was confronted with the impossible task to conceal his pain to those who were watching over him after that faithful attack nearly one year ago. Then it had been easy to tell everyone that he was fine, but now...  
  
Now everyone was waiting for an other one of this strange unexplainable attacks. His wife had treated to leave him because he wouldn't tell her what was wrong with him, but how could he tell her that he was slowly dying? That there was no cure for he was the first who had these symptoms?  
  
He wished for it to end, but he was not ready yet to let his live come to an end, to leave his family, his friends, even his students.  
  
The only place he found peace in was the Chamber of Secrets, looking at the giant - partly destroyed statue of Salazar Slytherin the founder of `his´ house here at Hogwarts. His ability to brew potions was lost five months ago, he had tried to stir a simple Calming Draught - and was not able to draw clear circles. After that he had locked all his potion books and equipment away. It was too painful for him to see something connected with his oldest love.  
  
As a child and adult he had found his only happiness while making or researching potions, it was his only way to relax, to be at ease with himself and the world surrounding him. Even after he had married and his children were born he found time to work on his potions.  
  
He no longer had this possibility, all destroyed in a moment of weakness, of the childish wish to become something great.  
  
His students had thought his teaching-methods cruel and inhuman, he knew it, but if he should between the possibility of them making a choice like he had made or living... He had seen to many students with and after him fall in the trap of Voldemort to allow someone else to fall into it. To be lured into the fangs of that monster under the pretence of greatness, friends and fortune - or just recognition of their own ability. He had succeeded with most of them, but the few he had lost pained him to this day. Every single one had been worth a life without that terror, he had failed them, failed to safe them, to let them see the error of their choice.  
  
More then twenty year - and still he felt the pain of knowing that he had failed them, had failed himself for not keeping the promise he made himself when he had first seen what monster his master really was: To safe as many children from him as possible, not to allow HIM to gain more followers.  
  
Looking up to the face of the founder he asked himself, when he had become so bitter, so sarcastic - the answer did not surprise him, but it scared him: the day he had received his first Hogwarts-letter and his parents had only stated, that it showed again, that he was nothing special, that he should have received it a year earlier, but so he was just one among the others.  
  
He hated his parents and the other students for it, trying to get recognition he despised those who got it: the Marauders, and years later the son of a Marauder: Harry Potter.  
  
Ironic, how the person he despised for just existing had brought him such happiness. Without Harry he would have never found his wife and would never have those wonderful children.  
  
For a few years in his life he had been happy, the years in which he had been able to live for his wife and his children, not fearing and at the same time hoping, that every day would be his last - fearing, that on that day he would see his family for the last time, but hoping, the pain would finally stop, even when it stopped because death had taken him away from the clutches of his own personal hell of memories better forgotten and pain.  
  
Wincing he tried to stand up, but in spite of his efforts he sank back to the ground, cursing silently his inability to move as freely as he would like, as he was able to a few years ago. Staying here any longer was not an option, as it was already early morning, still moving seemed to be an impossible feet.  
  
It took him roughly an hour to stand up and leave the Chamber, seeking rest before he had to attend yet an other meal, an other day of being watched and - seemingly randomly visited by both his children and the professors, not to forget that annoying Dr. Granger. He knew, that his wife would sometimes watch him through the fire, never saying a word to him, only observing him silently, her expression sad, confused - and hurt.  
  
She did not understand why he would not tell her what was wrong, why he refused to acknowledge that something was wrong, she felt dad he was seriously ill... she had to be a complete dunderhead not to sense it... and yet, he could not tell her.  
  
He was not able to tell her - or someone else - what was happening to him. As soon as the symptoms had started he began to keep a diary, which would be sent to his beloved wife one week after he died. Writing down what was happening was possible, but he could not talk about it, he could not make himself so vulnerable. He needed every bit of strength he had left to continue living - and he would loose it when he would speak out what was slowly destroying him  
  
For years he had spied for the Order of Phoenix, for years he had written letters to those who mattered to him - only to destroy them when he came back from a mission, when he had once again survived. He had learned to write his feelings, his thoughts down, to express himself in writing, like he could never while talking.  
  
Now he wished that he could talk, that he could tell his Beloved what kept him from her, what would take her finally completely from her.  
  
To tell her every day, that he loved her - and that she should continue living without him.  
  
He could not tell her, he could only write it down, and hope, that he would not lose her.  
  
But then, maybe it was for the best if she started to hate him instead of loving him and suffering through loosing him. 


	6. My Lord What a Mornin'

Chapter 5: My Lord what a Mornin'  
  
Slowly he was limping over the school-grounds, his mind lost in memories of the night twenty-eight years ago. The sun had already set, in his memory he replayed the sounds and sights of that night, which was now all over the world celebrated.  
  
Inside the students enjoyed the feast, even though they knew that non of the adults present wished to be there. Harry, Ginny, Albus and Draco were staying at the castle for this night - as they had since they had finished Hogwarts; and even though he enjoyed to see his children, he was not able to fully appreciate their visit at this time of the year.  
  
He did not even remember anymore how it was to be without pain, he was thankful for every second he did not have to control himself to not scream in agony. Long ago when Voldemort had still been alive the only way to survive his torture-sessions - if he had not wanted to torture you to death - had been not to scream. Most of the time Voldemort had gotten bored and had stopped. Now he needed this skill once again to survive: everyone in his immediate surrounding knew that he was in pain, but no one did phantom in how much pain he really was.  
  
Yet every evening and every weekend he still took one of the carriages down to Hogsmead to visit his beloved Alice. Three years ago she had threatened to leave him if he would not tell her what was happening to him, it had take him many weeks, before he was able to tell her - and himself - what was happening. She had cried herself to sleep that evening and had insisted, that he would give Hogwarts into someone else hand.  
  
He had refused.  
  
Hogwarts would not except anyone less powerful than himself as a Headmaster for a long time - and none of his children was ready for this burden, but only they were powerful enough to not be drowned by the castles presence.  
  
He had nearly reached the Lily bush as a new wave of pain rushed over him, leaving him breathless. Stumbling he noted, that the Lily-blossoms were nearly completely red, red as blood, the blood of all the fallen of the last battle, of all the victims of Voldemort and all tyrants before him...  
  
The last blossom had completed its change from the innocent white they carried all year to the red of the memory of the blood that had once drenched the ground they grew on as he closed his eyes for the last time, finally seeing not his death but the peace Harry Potter had brought them.  
  
Early the next morning Dr. Hermione Granger found the already cold body of Hogwarts Headmaster, as she visited the place one of her best friends had died. Almost peaceful he lay in front of the once again white Lily-bush. For the first time in years was his face not a careful constructed mask to hide his pain, but instead peaceful, happy - and smiling. She had not known what had ailed him, she doubted, that even his family knew it, he had never talked about it, always pretending that everything was in order.  
  
A lone tear slid out of her eyes, a sad smile gracing her face as she prepared to float the dead body into the hospital wing. Before she conjured a linen to cover him she whispered a last sentence in the air, sure that somewhere her old professor would hear her:  
  
"Rest in peace, Professor Snape!"  
  
*My Lord what a Mornin'  
My Lord what a Mornin'  
My Lord what a Mornin'  
When the stars begin to fall  
When the stars begin to fall  
  
My Lord what a Mornin'  
My Lord what a Mornin'  
My Lord what a Mornin'  
When the stars begin to fall  
When the stars begin to fall  
  
No more pain and grief for me  
I heard form heaven today  
Yes my Lord's gonna set me free  
I heard from heaven today  
  
My Lord what a Mornin'  
My Lord what a Mornin'  
Oh my Lord what a Mornin'  
When the stars begin to fall  
When the stars begin to fall  
  
On my way to the promised land  
I heard from heaven today  
God's gonna give me his right hand  
I heard from heaven today  
  
Oh my Lord what a Mornin'  
My Lord what a Mornin'  
Oh my Lord what a Mornin'  
When the stars begin to fall  
When the stars begin to fall*  
(Harry Bellafonte) 


End file.
